


Rolling the Dice (get a different number each time)

by SneakyHufflepuff



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gen, action movie violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/pseuds/SneakyHufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of unrelated drabbles written for the be_compromised ficathon. Includes UST, humor and improvised weapons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Best Friends Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a picture prompt of Clint and Natasha in Central Park for sunny_serenity.

“And then Fury suspended me for a week. I know he still has the feather boa though.” Clint prattled on, telling meaningless stories. It was his way of repairing the frayed bonds of their partnership after the heartwashing.

“What color was the boa?” Natasha asked. _We’re good Clint._

“Lime green.” Clint said with a smirk. “Now that the superhero boy-band has disbanded, wanna come to the Manhattan safehouse for a drink?” _Come home with me and stay for a week._

“Not tonight.”

Natasha quickened her pace. She knew without looking behind her that Clint would be giving her puppy dog eyes. For a secret agent he was terrible at hiding his emotions.

“See ya soon Nat.” _Why won’t you let me love you?_

It took forty minutes on the subway to get to her apartment. It felt like four hours. Natasha hadn’t been lying when she said she was tired, the events of the past few days were catching up up with her. She went through her security measures on autopilot, checking the alarms, traps and hidden weapons. She spent a brief moment wondering whether she should start her report before stripping off her clothes, falling facedown on her bed and closing her eyes. Clint’s face appeared in front of her, denying her sleep. She felt a pang of regret for not taking him up on his offer. It was ridiculous. Loki's plots and the Chitauri had knocked her off balance and made her overly emotional. She should call Mark with the blue eyes who thought she was Natalie Rushman from Legal. Or Sam with his talented hands who thought she was Talia Rollins from NYU. Or Tim with the body of a Greek God who thought she was a bartender from New Jersey. Any of those men would make a good distraction.

She reached for her phone and without conscious thought she dialed Clint’s number. The phone rang. A woman’s voice answered.

“Hey, I’m sorry but Peter can’t-”

“Oh I’m sorry. Wrong number,” Natasha said, effortlessly polite.

Natasha turned off her cellphone and threw it against the wall.

_Avengers Tower, five months later._

Darcy admired Clint subtly from across the room, or as subtly as she could six drinks into the night. She gave herself points for not actually drooling.

“You do have the day off tomorrow,” Jane told Darcy meaningfully with a nudge in Clint’s direction.

“Do I look home-wrecking slut?” Darcy asked, appalled. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

“He’s available,” Natasha spoke from behind them. “And he likes you,” she told Darcy.

Darcy choked on her drink at Natasha’s sudden appearance. “So you two aren’t...”

“No. We’re not together.”

“Are you secretly a nun?!” Darcy blurted out.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at Darcy’s rudeness, but softened the look with a smile. “We’re best friends. It’s enough.”


	2. Drabble (or why Clint and Natasha end up spending a month in Timbuktu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt by inkvoices:
> 
> "They've been to a lot of places around the world for missions and training (and for Red Room assignments, circus performaces, wars), but neither of them have ever just gone to a place to explore it, to be there. It's always been work or survival. They get some free time (at some point, before or after the film) and just go somewhere that neither of them have been to before, to be tourists or for sightseeing or to just be somewhere without an agenda. (To have a place someone in the world that's associated only with good memories.) "

“How about France?” Clint said.

Natasha shook her head. “I want somewhere we can make new memories.”

“Okay, I take it Italy is out as well?”

Natasha didn’t even bother to veto the suggestion out loud, an eyebrow raise was enough. “What about Dubai?” Natasha asked.

“Hell no.” Clint shuddered and Natasha made a mental note to get the full story later. “Thailand? Beaches and great food.” Clint didn't even try to hide his excitement at the prospect of Natasha in a swimsuit.

“No, I drowned a politician there in ’07.” Natasha looked regretful. “Thailand does have great beaches though.”

“What about Australia?” Clint asked hopefully.

“No.”

“You have bad memories of Australia?! Nothing ever happens there.”

“Koalas are vicious vicious creatures.”


	3. De Nile ain't just a river in Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt by anuna_81:
> 
> "After taking a look into Clint's mind and at least trying to do the same with Natasha, Loki is surprised and a little bitter. (or whatever you think he'd feel or think, because I SO WANT TO SEE A STORY ABOUT THIS.)"
> 
> Written before the Avengers deleted scenes came out.

Loki has spent more than three hours picking the mortal's brain for information. Midgard is as pathetically defended as he expected, but Agent Barton is surprisingly competent. Loki must remember to thank Director Fury for assembling so many useful drones in one place. Selvig will be of no further use once he’s completed the portal, but Barton has potential as a minion when this miserable planet is under Loki’s control.

“Which S.H.I.E.L.D agents are the most dangerous?” Loki asks Barton, mentally pulling together the final threads of his plan.

“Agents Hill, Coulson and Romanoff. Both Hill and Coulson can take command in Fury’s stead.” Barton, standing at attention, is almost robotic in his recital.

“And not Romanoff?”

“No, she specializes in field work.”

“We will start with her. Tell me everything you know about Agent Romanoff.”

Barton’s face remains expressionless, but Loki feels a flicker of resistance through his mind-link with the sphere. Loki smiles as he focuses his will through the blue orb and crushes the archer's defiance.

“Natasha Romanoff. Codename: Black Widow. Trained by the Ivan Drackov and the Red Room in Russia, defected to S.H.I.E.L.D five years ago. 93% mission success rate. Fifty-three successful assassinations, not including collateral damage. Her most notable failure is the Sao Paulo hospital fire. She caused 156 casualties and an international manhunt.”

“Tell me about her abilities.”

“She specializes in manipulation and interrogation. Primary weapons are her Glock 26s. Secondary weapon is her Widow’s Bite, bracelets that discharge electricity. She is also highly proficient in unarmed conflict. She is not physically capable of hurting a god. Habits include dancing, drinking and reading.”

“Enough. Tell me her weaknesses.”

“She’s human. Guilt. Me.”

“You are a weakness?”

“Yes.”

“How convenient. Why?”

“She was my partner.”

Loki is unable to hide his glee. So much potential for manipulation, for twisting partners against each other. It will add unexpected sweetness to this invasion. He senses that Barton is holding something back. Perhaps the Agent is too stubborn to be kept around after the invasion. A pity.

“There’s more than that. Do you love her Agent Barton?”

“The Tesseract has shown me freedom from love.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know? How can you know?” Loki’s voice breaks a little on the last question.

“When we spar she hits me with 6% less force than her other opponents. She smiles twice as much when I’m in the room. She says my name like a prayer.”

Loki pauses. His earlier glee vanishes. His hand clenches around the spear and he imagines stabbing Barton’s chest.

“Leave me.”

“Yes sir.”

Loki will continue the interrogation later. His head aches and the nagging voices at the back of his mind are growing louder. A short rest and he will be able to concentrate on the task at hand.


	4. The (Other) American Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt by lar_laughs:
> 
> Clint and Steve have bonded over baseball and decide they need to take Natasha to a game so that she might finally understand what it us about the game that they love so fiercely.
> 
> Bonus points for Clint explaining the rules the night before by tracing them out on her skin.
> 
> Extra bonus points for Natasha getting all hot and bothered by the infield fly rule and Steve not understanding what's going on and Clint just grinning.

Steve ducked Natasha’s spinning kick and charged towards her. She flipped to the left and used his momentum to bring him to the ground. She danced away from his attempt to bring her down with him, allowing him enough time to roll away into a crouch. He stood his ground, letting Natasha take the offensive.

“You should watch a game of baseball with Clint and I,” Steve told Natasha, panting from exertion.

“Baseball?” Natasha asked skeptically, unleashing a quick flurry of punches.

“I have tickets to the third game of the Mets-Yankees series. It will be fun,” Steve promised, dodging her attacks.

“Sure, why not?” Natasha said as she swept his legs out from under him.

\---

Clint walked into Steve’s apartment with a six-pack of beer. “Afternoon Steve. Ready to watch the Yankees cry like itty-bitty babies?” he stopped walking as he saw Natasha and Steve already watching the game on Steve’s flat-screen.

“What's she doing here?” Clint’s voice was suspiciously close to a whine. “This was supposed to manly bonding time. Among men.”

Natasha settled back into the couch cushions with a handful of pretzels, watching Clint with amusement.

“I’m friends with both of you, but we never hang out together. I bought us all tickets to the game tomorrow and it won’t be fun for Natasha if she doesn’t understand the game at least a little first,” Steve babbled sheepishly.

“I looked baseball up on Wikipedia on the ride over. I think I know everything I need to know,” Natasha put in.

Clint winced at her words, but plunked his six-pack on the coffee table with a sigh of resignation. "I guess we can watch it together. As long as Nat doesn't say anything else about Wikipedia." He sat down on the sofa next to Natasha.

All three Avengers turned to the television to see the Yankees pitcher strike out the Mets batter in high definition. Clint groaned, Steve covered his face with his hands and Natasha cheered. Both men turned towards her in horror.

“You’re a... a Yankees fan?” Clint spat the words.

Natasha shrugged. “I told you I did some research before coming over. The Yankees seem more likely to win than the Mets, last night notwithstanding. I back winners.”

Steve spluttered. Clint shook his head in disbelief. Natasha’s words proved prophetic, and the Yankees won 3-1.

\---

The next day Clint and Natasha showed up to Steve’s apartment together before the game. Natasha was wearing an Mets t-shirt two sizes too big.

“I thought you were a Yankees fan.” Steve said to Natasha.

“Clint can be persuasive,” Natasha replied.

Clint smirked. “This will be fun. We should hang out together more often.”


	5. Bringing Home the Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt by spottedpenguin:
> 
> Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.  
> -William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

“We need you to infiltrate a black-tie embassy event,” Coulson told his two most troublesome agents without preamble.

Their reaction was immediate. Natasha sat up straighter in her chair, Clint slumped backwards.

“We don’t want an international incident, just a subtle interrogation before the hors d'oeuvres are served. Natasha will obviously be taking the lead.” Coulson continued.

“Obviously taking the lead? What does that mean?” Clint protested.

“It means you should just stand there and look pretty while I bring home the intel,” Natasha said.

“It means that this is Natasha’s specialty and not yours,” Coulson said with just a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “Your cover will be as Natalie and Cameron Tanner, married three years.”

“So not only am I incompetent, I’m also a cradle-robber,” Clint said.

“I’m taking that out on you next time we spar,” Natasha said.

“You can try, sweetheart,” Clint replied.

“Call me that again and I will break both your kneecaps,” Natasha said.

Coulson dropped a heavy sheaf of papers on the table between the two agents. Both of them jumped in their seats and turned their attention back to Coulson.

“Your mark is Evan Saunders,” Coulson said, nodding to Agent Hill who took over the briefing seamlessly.

Clint and Natasha waited until they were out the door before they continued bickering.

“Should I be worried about fraternization policy violations?” Maria asked Coulson.

“That would require both of them to pull their head out of their asses,” Phil replied.

\---

“What does a woman like you do in her spare time?” Evan Saunders asked. He had deep baby-blue eyes that were attempting to gaze soulfully into Natalie Tanner’s green ones.

“Oh, this and that. I’ve traveled extensively throughout Europe and South America,” Natalie said, leaning towards Sanders.

“Hmmm? Oh, me too. What’s your favorite place to visit?” Saunders eyes began flicking between Natalie’s face and her cleavage.

“I love Rio, but I adore Paris, it’s just so romantic. Have you been?” Natalie asked Saunders, playing the vapid socialite to the hilt.

“No, not recently.” Saunders blinked before he spoke and looked away from Natalie as he lied.

So the analysts were right, Paris was the home-base of his organization. It had taken less than five minutes of conversation for Natasha to gather the information SHIELD needed. Now she only had to extricate herself without drawing suspicion.

“I have been to Rio several times. I might be planning a trip soon,” Saunders said, letting the end of his sentence trail off suggestively and putting a hand on Natalie’s arm.

“I hope you have fun if you do decide to go. I really must check on my husband. He hates these events,” Natalie said regretfully, pulling away.

“Seriously, what do you see in that guy?” Evan asked, gesturing to Cameron.

“He makes me laugh.” Natalie sashayed towards her partner.

Cameron looked dangerously attractive in his well tailored tux, only the slight shifting of weight from foot to foot signaling he was ready to leave.

“Want to dance?” Natalie asked Cameron, loudly enough that it would be noticeable if Cameron refused.

“Anything for you, _sugarwoogums_ ,” Cameron replied.

Natalie stepped on his foot in a way that would look accidental to anyone watching.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married a woman with two left feet,” Cameron said for the benefit of any observers.

“Well I guess we’ll have to dance slowly enough that I can’t do any damage,” Natalie replied, putting her arms around Cameron’s neck.

“How long until we can leave?” Clint whispered into Natasha’s ear, looking for all the world like an adoring husband whispering endearments.

“No one is going to believe we’re married if you keep holding me like that,” Natasha whispered back. Clint lowered his hands from her waist. “Better,” Natasha told him.

“Seriously Nat, I’m boiling in this monkey-suit.”

“It would look suspicious if we left straight away. Has SHIELD taught you nothing?”

“Not all of us can be a super-spy from age thirteen.”

“Clearly.”

They continued dancing, slightly off the rhythm.

“Nice work with Saunders,” Clint said at last, attempting to make peace.

“Thank you,” Natasha said, taking the compliment as her due.

“I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets when you walked up to him,” Clint joked. “Then the ‘I might be planning a trip soon.’ Smooth.”

Natasha muffled her snort of agreement in Clint’s shoulder. They danced in silence until the music changed and Natasha pressed herself closer against him.

“Jesus Nat, I feel enough like a dirty old man as it is,” Clint hissed.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m twenty-five and old enough to make my own decisions,” Natasha said, the venom in her words belying her placid smile.

“You’re a kid who was forced to grow up too damn fast.”

“Bullshit. I see the way you look at me. Everyone sees the way you look at me.”

“Let’s just get out of here? The mission is over.” Clint continued their whispered conversation, strain audible in his voice.

‘If you want to leave we can leave, but if you haven’t noticed, there is a hot redhead who likes dancing throwing herself at you,” Natasha said softly, looking up through her eyelashes at Clint.

Clint closed his eyes, but not before Natasha saw the telltale dilation of his pupils.

A grey and wrinkled woman, glorious in her sequined gown and partnered with a handsome man in his early thirties, danced deliberately towards to Natalie.

“Honey, I believe the phrase is ‘get a room.’ Unless you want to be thrown out of here for public indecency; that can be fun too,” the old woman said with a wink.

Natalie blushed. Cameron looked around with a start and saw the couples around them were maintaining at least three inches of distance between them. A few of the older couples were looking at the Tanners with disdain.

“My wife had a little too much champagne,” Cameron explained to the woman with the sequined gown. “We were just leaving.”

Natalie pouted at him but he was already steering her towards the door.

\---

Clint woke up and began to catalog his injuries. Assorted bruises, scratches down his back and a bite mark on his shoulder. Natasha had been adamant about marking him as hers. Gently, as if he still couldn’t believe he could, he ran his fingers along Natasha’s back. She stirred, slapped his hand away, and went back to sleep.


	6. Villain of the Week (improvised weapons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Improvised weapons" by inkvoices. Includes a Nikita crossover. You don't have to know the show to appreciate the fic.
> 
> People keep kidnapping Clint. Natasha is not happy about this.

Clint let his head loll forward as he surreptitiously eyed his surroundings. In each corner of the twenty by twenty room a guard in an ill-fitting suit waited, each an expert in unarmed combat. The room contained one table and two chairs, all made of dull metal and bolted to the floor. He was handcuffed to one chair, an ex-CIA hack named Percy perched on the the other.

“You’re not going to tell me I can’t get away with this?” Percy asked.

“No point. You’re not. I’m just waiting for the cavalry to arrive,” Clint looking across the table at the fool who thought kidnapping Hawkeye would be a great way to raise money and to impress his new partners. He maneuvered so he could put his uninjured leg on the table, his dirty boot deliberately close to Percy’s shiny cellphone and immaculate suit.

“You know SHIELD can’t touch me. If I die every dirty secret the United States has will be leaked to every government, every newspaper and every damn blog on the face of the planet,” Percy said with soft menace.

“SHIELD can’t kill you,” Clint corrected calmly.

Percy’s cellphone rang. He picked it up, still holding Clint’s gaze.

“You searched her thoroughly for weapons? Good.” Percy set down the phone. “I hate to break it to you Hawkeye, but your ‘cavalry’ is one woman.”

Clint relaxed back in his chair and threw Percy a cocky grin. The tip-tap of high heels against concrete floor began to echo from the hallway outside.

In her left hand Natasha held a cup of coffee (one sugar, no cream), which she was sipping slowly, careful not to spill any on her purple sheath dress. In her right she held a metal suitcase containing the three million dollar cash ransom. She didn’t bother to hide her disdain for the low rent secret base as the door to holding room shut behind her. It helped her mask her concern as she looked Clint over for injuries. A gunshot wound in the right thigh, a blacked eye and small cuts littering his face and arms. He’d been through worse, but that wasn’t enough to stop the anger building in her gut.

Natasha hefted the suitcase and placed it on the table. Percy pulled it towards himself and after checking for hidden traps, opened it and began counting the money. Natasha made a show of examining her recently manicured nails as she examined the goons through the corner of her eyes. She knew each by reputation. If she were fighting them in a sparring ring she’d be worried.

“Oh look, the goons all have different colored ties. Do you think has them color-coded so he can tell them apart?” she asked Clint.

Clint snorted, but before he could reply Percy shut the briefcase with a satisfied smirk.

“The money’s all there. You may take him and go,” Percy told Natasha with a magnanimous wave of his hands.

“Why thank you,” Natasha said, saccharine sweet. “But I wasn’t talking to you.” She didn’t move.

“Rude,” Clint admonished Percy with a shake of his head as the guards began to move towards Natasha.

The guards were all unarmed, a clever move on Percy’s part. It meant the fight would take at least thirty seconds more than it would have if she or Clint could have stolen a gun.

“You know,” Natasha continued her conversation with Clint. “You’d think after what I did to The Master, word would have gotten around that kidnapping you was a bad idea.”

She flung her cup of coffee in the face of the guard with the red-tie and slipped out of her heels, kicking one towards Clint who was freeing himself from the handcuffs. Red-Tie clawed at his eyes. Natasha cut off his airway with a quick finger thrust. When her hand pulled back a red tie was dangling from her fist.

“How come when it comes to making exotic poisons or corrosive acid from a kitchen pantry, you’re totally at home, but when it comes to making pasta you’re hopeless?” Clint asked.

Natasha grasped her remaining high heel with the toes of her left foot and flicked it up in the air, grabbed it with her right hand and spun to bury the heel in Green-Tie’s heart. He looked down at the shoe protruding from his chest in stunned disbelief and fell to the floor, blood bubbling from his lips. Natasha was already dodging a kick from Orange-Tie, blocking a punch from Blue-Tie and moving so she had her back to the wall.

“A working knowledge of chemistry is essential for any well-rounded assassin,” Natasha told Clint unapologetically in between blows.

She used the red tie to block Blue-Tie’s next kick, twisting it around so Blue-Tie had to hit the ground to avoid dislocating his hip. She unceremoniously kicked him in the head while he was down.

“I notice that you didn’t answer my question. You just pretend to be bad at cooking, don’t you?” Clint asked, mock outraged.

Natasha shrugged as she ducked a nasty strike from Orange-Tie. He was clearly a higher caliber of fighter than his unconscious and dying brethren. Clint shook his head in exasperation as he casually stuck his left foot out. Percy, who had been attempting to flee with the briefcase, hit the ground hard. Natasha continued trading strikes with Orange-Tie, blocking hits she could have dodged and slowing her blows as if from tiredness.

“Maybe I like to watch you cook,” Natasha said to Clint, adding a pant of exhaustion to her voice.

Blue-Tie, recovered from her kick to the head, rushed towards Natasha, trying to take her by surprise. Before she had time to react to the new threat he went down with a stiletto in his eye.

“Nice throw,” Natasha said.

“Anytime, darling.”

She saw the moment when Orange-Tie started to believe he was getting the better of her. Natasha let her eyes widen in fear and sprinted towards the door. He followed. She ran up the door and used it as a springboard to backflip over Orange-Tie. While he was still processing the fact she was behind him she used her palm on the back of his head to slam his face into the door. Orange-Tie, temporarily stunned, moaned in pain but didn’t fall over. With a feral snarl Natasha took out his legs from underneath him so he hit the door handle on the way to the ground. He stayed down.

“You’re a manipulative bitch,” Clint said.

“You love it,” Natasha said with a laugh.

Natasha sauntered to where Percy was crawling towards the door. She pulled the suitcase from his fingers and swung it to hit him over the head with the full force of the metal case. He collapsed into unconsciousness. She reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his cellphone and scrolled through the contact list.

“We’ve got them,” Natasha said, handing the phone to Clint.


End file.
